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THE 


OAK 


- 


THE   CHARTER    OAK 


THE   CHARTER    OAK, 


BY  JOHN  JAY  ADAMS 


N  E  W  -  Y  O  R  K : 

PUBLISHED  BY  SAMUEL  COLMAN, 

NO.  VIII.  ASTOK,  HOUSE. 

1839. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1839,  by 

SAMUEL    COL  MAN, 

in  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New-York. 


G.  F.  HOPKINS,  Printer,  2  Ann-street. 


INTRODUCTION. 


IN  submitting  this  little  book  to  the  public,  the  author  will 
not  attempt  an  apology,  nor  endeavour  to  forestal  criticism.  A 
brief  statement,  however,  of  the  circumstances  which  gave 
rise  to  the  leading  poem,  and  induced  this  publication,  will 
not,  he  trusts,  be  deemed  impertinent. 

The  author  had  very  frequently  wondered  why,  at  the  pre 
sent  day,  amongst  so  many  posts  whose  talents  are  of  a  com 
manding  order,  so  little  had  been  written  in  a  heroic  strain, 
when  the  age  was  teeming  with  such  extraordinary  develope- 
ments,  and  the  reminiscence,  —  even  of  a  day,  — was  fraught 
with  associations  so  well  calculated  to  enkindle  enthusiasm. 

In  perusing  the  Columbiad  of  Barlow,  he  was  for  some  time 
at  a  loss  to  discover  why  the  work  was  a  failure  ;  for  in  the 
Vision  of  Columbus  he  found  passages  possessing  striking 
merit,  and  which  indicated  the  possession  of  very  considerable 
requisites  for  the  production  of  a  national  poetical  work.  He 
found  the  reason:  — Barlow  attempted  the  Epic  ;  hence  his 

genius  was  not  only  put  under  restraint,  but  condemned  to  a 
1* 


M189Q02 


VI  INTRODUCTION. 

slavish  servility  not  compatible  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  nor 
with  the  appropriate  treatment  of  a  subject  so  novel,  and  so  ex 
pansive.  The  frequent  newspaper  paragraphs,  recording  the 
passing  events  of  the  day,  as  connected  with  science  and  the 
arts  —  the  progress  of  civilization — the  rapid  though  silent 
and  happy  changes  to  which  the  whole  world  is  submitting,  — 
present  more  material,  if  read,  —  and  rendered,  —  in  a  proper 
spirit,  for  high- wrought  poetic  indulgence,  than  aught  which 
the  pages  of  prior  history  can  furnish. 

During  a  voyage  across  the  Atlantic,  the  author  was  led 
to  think  more  seriously  on  this  subject,  by  the  perusal  of  a 
volume  of  poems  which  happened  to  make  one  of  his  com- 
pagnons  du  voyage.  The  volume  was  that  of  Grenville  Mel- 
len,  whose  name  has  such  a  deserved  rank  among  the  lyric 
poets  of  the  age,  and  in  whose  Martyr's  Triumph  and  Buried 
Valley,  he  found  a  towering  beauty  of  thought  and  apposite- 
ness  of  versification,  which,  while  they  charmed,  caused  a 
feeling  of  regret  that  the  display  had  not  been  made  on 
subjects  of  a  more  tangible  nature,  equally  inspiriting  to 
the  writer,  and  more  easily  understood  by  the  world  at 
large.  The  author,  while  attempting  to  review  that  volume 
with  the  design  of  expatiating  upon  its  beauties,  and  en 
larging  upon  the  views  he  had  assumed,  was  interrupted  in 
a  moment  of  banter,  by  a  request  on  the  part  of  his  es- 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

* 

teemed  friend,  Captain  MORGAN,  to  write  something  about 
the  Charter  Oak.  Designing  it  as  a  mere  dinner  bagatelle, 
he  struck  off  a  stanza ;  but  he  found  that  the  feelings  with 
which  he  was  possessed,  would  not  permit  him  to  treat  the 
matter  lightly.  Hence  arose  the  Charter  Oak,  as  it  ori 
ginally  appeared  in  the  N.  Y.  Mirror;  and  hence,  with  some 
few  additional  circumstances,  which  he  solicits  to  be  excused 
for  relating,  sprang  this  little  work.  The  alacrity  with  which 
Gen.  Morris  published  the  production,  and  the  kind  expres 
sions  which  he  lavished  in  a  way  that  rendered  them  sub 
stantially  serviceable,  added  to  the  flattering  announcement 
of  his  then  associate,  the  accomplished  C.  F.  Hoffman,  Esq., 
he  must  confess  somewhat  stimulated  him  to  presumption  ; 
but  they  who  will  read  must  concede  that  it  did  not  carry 
him  to  any  seriously  taxable  lengths.  He  felt  his  weakness, 
his  inefficiency  ;  yet,  he  mourned  more  that  they  whose  edu 
cation,  pursuits,  and  talents,  gave  the  qualifications,  did  not 
embark  on  so  glorious  a  sea,  than  at  any  failure  on  his  part 
in  attempting  to  embody  the  glowing  imaginings,  crowned 
by  a  more  glowing  reality,  which  were  continually  in  his 
companionship. 

From  one  whom  with  delight  he  calls  his  friend  —  who  is 
duly  appreciated  only  by  those  who  know  him  best,  he  re 
ceived  the  following  tribute;  and  although  conscious  that 


VUl  INTRODUCTION. 

the  feelings  of  the  critic  were  merged  entirely  in  the  amiability 
of  the  man,  he  cannot  refrain  from  presenting  it  here.  To 
Samuel  Woodworth,  Esq.  the  author  is  indebted  for  the  fol 
lowing,  which  wras  published  in  the  Evening  Star : 

"  SWEET  is  the  strain  thy  lyre  has  woke, 

To  eulogize  that  monarch  tree  : 
A  happy  theme  that  '  Charter  Oak,' 

It  forms  a  fadeless  wreath  for  thee. 

",Yes,  thou  art  brow-bound  with  the  Oak, 

And  long  its  verdure  shall  remain  : 
Not  won  in  battle's  vengeful  stroke, 

But  by  sweet  poesy's  tuneful  strain. 

"And  I  would  rather  wear  that  wreath, 
Than  any  blood-stain'd  garland  known. 

Still  bid  thy  lyre  such  numbers  breathe, 
And  fame  shall  claim  thee  for  her  own." 

The  well-known  editor  of  the  N.  Y.  Gazette,  whose  criti 
cal  judgment  is  so  universally  appreciated,  in  speaking  of  the 
production,  said  that  he  "really  did  not  see  that  it  had  much 
to  do  with  the  '  Old  Tree,'  "  but  suggested,  when  tendering 
some  highly  valued  compliments,  "that  it  might  be  eked  out 
to  an  Epic,  or  a  moral  and  didactic  poem  as  long  as  Young's 
Night  Thoughts."  The  author  has  eked  out  the  poem ;  yet 


INTRODUC  TION.  ix 

he  feels  that  he  has  but  reached  the  threshold.  There  he  is 
constrained  to  pause.  Engaged  sedulously  in  active  mercan 
tile  pursuits,  to  which  he  has  been  inured  from  boyhood, 
with  some,  occasionally  protracted,  interruptions,  it  is  doubt 
ful  whether  he  will  ever  again  resume  the  pen  with  the 
intent  of  invoking  the  muse.  By  circumstances  he  was 
forced  over  the  hedge  into  the  literary  field;  and  al 
though  his  right  to  wander  in  it  has  never  been,  to  his 
knowledge,  seriously  questioned,  he,  with  the  most  perfect 
sincerity,  declares  a  conviction  of  his  inadequacy  there  to 
range,  with  any  desirable  advantage  to  himself  or  his  fellows. 
Yet,  he  is  vain  enough  to  hope  that  the  tone  of  thought  in 
which  he  has  indulged,  may  take  effect  upon  some  master 
spirit,  and  hasten  the  day  when  the  good  and  great  of  our 
land  shall  acknowledge  the  influence  of  soul-lifting  poetry, 
struck  from  a  harp  whose  inspiration  shall  prove  alike  an 
honour  to  our  country  and  a  glory  to  the  world. 


Befcicaifon. 

TO    ROBERT    R.    BOYD,    ESQ.. 

DEAR  SIR  :  — 

To  you  I  would  respectfully  dedicate  this 
volume.  A  portion  of  the  leading  poem,  as  originally  pub 
lished,  was  inscribed  to  Capt.  ELISHA  E.  MORGAN,  whose 
suggestion  gave  it  origin,  and  to  whom  for  many  acts  of 
courtesy  1  shall  ever  feel  indebted. 

But,  unto  you  I  owe  a  tribute.  The  highest  gratifica 
tion  1  can  derive  from  any  success  which  may  attend  the 
public  reception  of  this  little  offering,  must  result  from  the 
consciousness  that  it  will  then  be  more  generally  known 
with  what  feelings  of  deep  gratitude  and  devoted  regard, 

I  am  your  friend,  and  ever  obliged  servant, 

THE  AUTHOR. 

NEW- YORK,  August,  1839. 


Barter 


AGAIN  I  greet  thee,  Ocean,  in  thy  smiles, 
And  mark  thy  gambolling  in  rainbow  crest ; 

Freed  from  the  earth  and  its  ensnaring  wiles, 
I  gaze,  and  feel  that  with  thee  I  am  blest, 

As  sinks  each  torturing  thought  that  e'er  my  soufopprest. 

I  gaze  upon  thee  when  at  twilight's  eve 
Thy  waves  do  seem  to  speak  in  humble  pray'r ; 

While,  like  fair  flowers,  they  gently  take  their  leave, 
No  longer  dallying  with  the  inconstant  air — 

And,  sympathetic,  feel  a  rest  for  all  my  care. 

I  mark,  in  wonder,  when  with  fearful  dash 
You  break,  as  though  the  bark  you  would  overwhelm ; 

In  anger  calling  to  the  intruder  rash, 

Who  dares  to  wander  o'er  thy  virgin  realm, 

While  rush  the  seamen  bold  unto  the  uncertain  helm ! 
2 


14  THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

I've  gazed  upon  thee  in  each  change  so  grand  — 

Thy  quiet  is  a  grandeur  —  all  confess  ; 
Though  then  so  distant  seems  the  heart- sought  strand, 

The  friends  we  seek,  perchance  love's  fond  caress, 
And  all  which  our  most  cherished  feelings  bless. 

I've  gazed  upon  thee,  and,  like  those  of  yore, 
Who  did  with  life  imbue  thee,  I  have  thought, 

That  e'en  from  out  thy  multitudinous  store, 

All  fair  things  on  this  earth,  perchance,  were  wrought, 

And  in  old  time,  save  thee,  existed  naught. 

Whence  sprang  that  thought — in  what  soul-searching 
mood, 

Was  he  who  brought  the  fancy  into  birth  ? 
High  mused  he  as  he  looked  upon  the  flood, 

While  standing  on  the  fairest  spot  of  earth  — 
That  no  alluvial  show'd,  or  atmospheric  dearth. 

Those  wild  imaginings  —  how  dear  they  are  — 

Mind  was  their  dictate— who  shall  say  they're  wrong  ] 

They  could  not  stoop  unto  the  skeptic's  fare  :  — 
To  being,  glory,  poesy,  and  song, 

All  things  they  gave  which  to  our  earth  belong. 


THECHARTEROAK.  15 

To  being,  glory,  poesy,  and  song, 

Fain  would  I  give  all  things  which  reach  my  lay ; 
The  blissful  thought  how  rapt  I  would  prolong, 

That  all  shall  waken  to  a  brighter  day, 
And  bask  —  transcendent  thought !  —  in  Heaven's  eternal 
ray. 

What  joy  is  fellowship  unto  that  mind, 

Which  bursts  the  cerements  worldlings  cast  around ; 
To  see  in  peace  its  kindred  and  its  kind, 

Complacent  look  beyond  this  narrow  bound  — 
Nor  thus  to  view  can  e'er  with  holy  joy  be  crown'd. 

And  once,  when  cheerful  rose  the  heart-fraught  lay, 
I  caught  my  sea  guide's  strange  perplexed  smile  — 

I  mark'd  the  change  when  tears  did  silent  stray, 
And  he,  as  though  my  sorrow  to  beguile, 

In  kindness  ask'd  —  what  thus  my  thoughts  did  wile  1 

"  My  song,  sir  Pilot,  gratitude  inspir'd — 
For  on  the  mercies  of  my  God  I  thought, 

And  my  full  soul,  with  holy  rapture  fir'd, 

Those  feelings  vented  that  were  overfraught, 

With  thankfulness  for  bliss  so  heavenly  wrought ; 


16  THE     CHARTER    OAK, 


For  all  secure,  as  in  my  now  sought  home, 

Upon  this  fitful  ocean  I  was  borne, 
While  not  a  thought  to  low  desire  could  roam — 

No  action  vain,  o'er  which  the  contrite  mourn, 
And  which,  full  oft,  so  mark  the  spirit  torn, 

Content  and  plenty  with  me  and  around, 
How  could  my  heart  repress  the  joyful  lay  1 

Yet,  as  I  pierced  yon  verge  in  circle  bound, 

Why  should  you  marvel  that  the  tears  did  stray, 

When  to   my  vision  came  the   woes  which  throng  the 
way? 

See  where  yon  tall  bark  helplessly  is  rolling  — 
Those  looks  of  agony  —  how  dreadful  —  look ! 

The  knell  of  death  o'er  all  is  fearful  tolling  — 
Can  you  that  sight  of  horror  calmly  brook, 

Which  e'en  the  soul  of  Nero  might  have  shook  ? 

Can  you  survey  it  and  not  bless  your  God 
That  thus  serene  you  move  upon  the  deep  1 

Come  now  with  me  and  bless  the  chastening  rod, 
Which  breaks  guilt's  thunders,  and  gives  quiet  sleep 

To  those  who  o'er  their  wayward  follies  weep. 


THE     CHARTER     OAK.  17 

Mark  you  that  little  and  that  fragile  bark  ! 

A  mother  and  her  child  are  on  the  wreck  — 
Heard'st  thou  that  shriek  ?    Unto  that  moaning,  hark ! 

The  father,  dying,  totters  to  the  deck :  — 
Relentless  death  his  victims  ne'er  may  reck. 

Turn  there  —  oh  God  !  what  horror  harrows  now, 
Thy  stricken  heart  as  fearfully  they  close  ! 

Those  icebergs  round  that  moveless,  fated  prow  — 
Those  rending  yells,  those  mad,  despairing  throes  — 

And,  if  thou  canst,  seek  for  thy  night's  repose. 

Yes,  thou  may1  si  seek,  and  calmly  close  thine  eyes, 

If  to  thy  God  the  heartfelt  prayer  ascend, 
That,  while  thy  soul  does  all  his  blessings  prize, 

To  those  thus  stricken  for  his  unknown  end, 
His  boundless  grace  in  mercy  may  extend." 

I  sought  my  couch,  yet  e'er  sweet  sleep  did  come, 
From  beauteous  lips  a  lay  rose  on  mine  ear ; 

'Twas  she,  the  wanderer  from  a  happy  home, 
Whose  every  tone  'twas  ravishment  to  hear : 

And  broke  that  tribute  strain  as  were  no  list'ner  near. 
2* 


18  THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

"Alone,  now  alone,  on  the  billow, 
How  sadly  my  thoughts  do  return  ; 

To  droop  like  some  low  moaning  willow, 
That  weeps  o'er  a  worth  cherished  urn : 

Bright  crested  the  waves  now  are  voicing, 

A  welcome  of  joy  to  their  home ; 
Unheeded  by  me's  their  rejoicing, 

As  far,  far  from  thee  I  do  roam. 
* 
V 
But  soon  shall  our  fleet  bark,  returning, 

In  sympathy  wreathe  the  bright  foam, 

While  each  element  gallantly  spurning, 

That  checks  the  embrace  of  my  home. 

On  our  favourite  seat  when  you  listen, 
The  wind  in  tempestuous  roar, 

Think  my  eyes  then,  with  pleasure  do  glisten, 
For  I  am  nearing  our  dear  native  shore. 

And  when,  with  a  hushing  commotion, 
The  waves  sing  a  fond  lullaby, 

Think,  that  o'er  that  beautiful  ocean, 
They  bear  thee  my  heart's  dearest  sigh." 


THE     CHARTER     OAK.  19 

Once  more  the  deck.  —  Ye  denizens  of  earth, 
Who  make  the  throng  upon  the  busy  mart  — 

To  you  this  scene  would  nothing  prove  but  dearth  ; 
For  nature  and  her  glories,  where's  your  heart  ? 

Alas  !  full  soon  you'll  mourn  in  them  you  had  no  part. 

Then  with  a  bluntness  none  but  sailors  know, 
For  meet  with  them  it  seems  as  courtly  phrase, 

Our  Pilot,  as  he  paced  to  and  fro, 
And  wandered,  thoughtful,  to  his  boyish  days, 

Thus  spake  :  —  «  Come,  give  this  day  unto  thy  idle  lays." 

I  was  at  peace,  for  all  around  was  joy. 

Our  bark  seemed  dancing  on  a  gleeful  sea, 
No  sight  or  sound  my  feelings  to  annoy. 

"  The  subject,  now,  sir  Pilot,  give  to  me, 
And  with  it,  fain,  will  I  in  buoyance  toy." 

"  Sing  of  the  Charter  Oak  !"  he  quick  replied. — 
What  swelling  thoughts  upon  my  mind  arose, 

As  to  the  days  men's  souls  that  nobly  tried, 
My  feelings  rushed  !  but  how  might  I  disclose 

Such  wond'rous  deeds  —  such  heart-conflicting  throes. 


20  THE    CHARTER    OAK. 

In  stanza  weak  the  muse  awoke  the  strain, 
Her  country's  glory  rose  above  the  verse  ; 

Clogg'd,  not  enfeebled,  broke  she  from  that  train, 
And  thus  essayed  the  great  theme  to  rehearse. 


BACK  to  those  days  when  eastward  went  the  ark, 
My  spirit  turns  —  and  with  thee  would  commune, 
Thou  monarch  tree  !  —  and  worthy  of  thy  crown ; 
For  hands  of  freemen  placed  the  simple  guard 
That  marks  thee  from  thy  fellows  —  monarch  tree  ! 
And  I  would  ask,  when  ceased  the  waters'  rage  — 
How  look'd  this  land,  emerging  from  the  waste, 
O'erspread  in  vengeance  of  a  God  incensed  ] 
Look'd  it  as  now  1    Did  this  calm,  gliding  stream 
Roll  in  its  course  as  beauteous  1  hill  and  dale 
Such  fascination  spread  1    But,  chief,  I'd  ask, 
Who  first  they  were  the  manly  strain  that  woke 
A  sound,  in  sylvan  scenes,  which  should  be  dear, 
But  which  too  oft  upon  the  air  doth  go, 
More  fear-fraught  than  a  forest-monster's  yell ! 
Whence  came  they!    How  allured — or  hither  driven 
By  still  rapacious  and  insatiate  man  1 
Lived  they  in  peace  amid  these  quiet  scenes) 


THE    CHARTER     OAK.  21 

Rose  from  their  hearts  a  thrilling  chant  of  praise, 
To  the  great  power  which  gave  such  heritage  ? 
Did  the  low  rustling  of  the  forest  leaf 
Attune  them  to  the  music  of  the  boughs, 
And  lift  their  thoughts  unto  a  holier  sphere  1 
Did  the  calm  flow  of  fertilizing  streams, 
Now  murmuring  soft,  and  now  in  wavy  sound, 
Tell  of  the  riches  of  their  crowning  banks, 
And  lure  them  unto  culture?    And  the  hills  — 
Sought  they  the  lawn  with  patriarchal  zeal, 
To  bid  the  homesteads  rise  in  shadowy  land, 
Made  consecrate  to  fellowship  and  love  ? 
Surveying  the  wide  prospect,  did  they  mark 
Its  beauties  with  enthusiastic  glow  — 
As  in  the  midst  their  fair  and  handiwork 
Waked  in  each  breast  the  patriot's  hallow'd  pride  1 

Ah,  no!  such  were  not  they,  who,  —  wandering, 
Lured,  or  driven,  —  did  first  the  echoes  wake 
Of  this,  then  vast,  unbounded  solitude  ! 
Fear-fraught  the  sound  they  sent  along  the  gale  — 
Their  dreaded  whoop  rang  but  revenge  and  blood  — 
And  well  might  speak  the  lineage  accurs'd 
Of  him  who  first  uprais'd  the  murd'rous  hand  ! 


22  THE    CHARTER    OAK. 

No  thrilling  chant  ascended  in  meet  praise  — 
But  savage  notes  of  wild,  exulting  joy. 
And  the  low  rustling  of  the  forest  leaf 
No  feelings  woke,  save  when  the  practised  ear 
Knew,  in  the  sound,  the  victim  or  the  prey  ! 
On  this  fair  stream  then  whirr'd  the  light  canoe, 
To  speed  the  hunter,  or  the  warrior  fierce ; 
Its  swelling  banks  no  culture  then  display'd  — 
Nor  from  the  lawn  arose  the  homestead  dear, 
To  cheer  the  husbandman's  contented  toil. 
Theirs  was  a  nature  not  to  be  subdued 
To  arts  of  peace,  and  calm  domestic  joy ; 
No  holy  words  of  ministering  zeal 
The  darkness  of  their  ignorance  dispell'd  — 
Revengeful,  rude,  and  savage  still  they  roamed  ; 
And,  slighting  Nature  in  her  courtship  bland, 
Proclaim'd  the  ban  of  Heaven  was  on  their  race  ! 

In  the  far  east,  behold,  the  veil  was  rent ! 
And,  now,  emerging  from  unholy  gloom, 
Which,  for  long  ages,  shrouded  her  bright  fane, 
O'er  the  wide  land,  Religion's  purer  ray 
Resistless  sped  !     Her  bland  and  blessed  beams 
A  high  intelligence  to  man  disclosing  — 


THE     CHARTER    OAK.  23 

His  duty,  glory,  destiny,  reveal'd  ! 

Then  rose  his  thoughts,  from  grovelling  passions  free  : 

No  knee  then  bent,  but  when  the  thankful  heart 

Or  contrite  mind,  with  penitential  warmth, 

Pour'd  forth  the  frequent  orison  and  prayer. 

All  worship  due,  and  given  to  God  alone  ! 

Yet  in  the  land  the  leaven  still  remained 

Still  damned  pride  and  superstitious  arts 
Over  its  rulers  held  their  baleful  sway, 
And,  on  those  pious  men,  who  walked  in  light, 
Oppression  fierce,  and  darkling  vengeance  fell ! 

On  that  far  land  bright  shines  the  western  star 

And,  from  the  cliff-bound  shores,  a  band  proscribed, 
Whom  persecution  drove  to  worship  there, 
Mark'd  the  effulgent  kiss  it  gave  the  wave, 
As  gloriously  it  sank  to  grace  the  clime, 
Broad-stretched  and  beautiful,  on  ocean's  bound, 
Then  woke  the  throb  —  the  heaven-inspir'd  desire, 
To  tempt  the  dangers  of  the  bounding  deep  ! 
Light  in  the  scale  its  snares  and  whelming  rage, 
Compared  to  man's  —  their  fellow  and  their  foe  ! 

Bright-plumed  in  faith,  they  take  their  winged  way  ; 


24  THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

And,  from  the  portals,  smiled  those  heavenly  guards, 
Who  erst  beheld,  across  chaotic  waste, 
The  arch-fiend  hurrying  to  his  work  of  wo, 
With  sin  and  death,  and  all  their  horrid  train. 
These,  from  the  gardens  of  that  eastern  world, 
O'er  the  wide  main  now  take  th'  uncertain  path, 
And  wheresoe'er  their  weary  feet  may  rest, 
New  verdure  springing  mid  unwonted  bloom, 
Shall  speak  the  joys  of  Paradise  return'd, 
And  bliss  new-born,  through  man's  repentant  tears  ! 

Though  rude  the  gale,  and  dread  the  surges  roar, 

On  the  drear  depths  the  pilgrim-freighted  ship 

Her  course  pursues  where  guides  that  lustrous  star, 

Regardless  of  the  elemental  strife, 

Which  well  might  seem  old  trident  Neptune's  throes  ! 

For  the  rapt  strains  then  rising  to  the  skies, 

His  doom  pronounced  —  his  empire's  homage  o'er ! 

And  thus  outbroke  the  choral's  triumph  sound  — 

Roll  and  roar,  thou  vex'd  ocean ! 

And,  ye  winds,  angry  chide  ! 
Mid  your  wildest  commotion, 

Securely  we  bide ! 


THE     CHARTER    OAK.  25 

In  the  tempest's  dread  wailing. 

Our  voices  shall  rise  — 
O'er  thy  fury  prevailing, 
And  reach  to  the  skies  ! 

Great  Father,  Creator,  accept  our  rude  prayer 

Thy  promise  to  gain  be  our  heart's  only  care. 

Though  ye  now  gather  frowning, 

Ye  dark,  low'ring  clouds, 
In  your  deluge-burst  drowning 

The  moan  of  the  shrouds  ! 
Soon,  sailing  in  lightness, 
Like  fleecy-wrought  car, 
Shall  ye  usher  in  brightness, 

Our  beautiful  star ! 

Great  Father,  Creator !  our  praises  resound  — 
Faint  type  of  its  glory,  thus  thy  promise  is  crown'd  ! 

Now,  on  the  rock,  a  wearied,  care-worn  crew, 
How  meekly-fervent  rose  their  grateful  notes, 
As  Faith  and  Hope  the  wintry  landscape  deck'd 
In  smiles  of  welcome  to  that  forest  home ! 
Pause  we  to  marvel  at  thy  shadowy  ways, 
Almighty  God  !  Eternal  Providence ! 
3 


26  THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

Pause  we  to  bless  Him,  who,  unask'd,  has  given 

Inheritance  more  rich  than  that  survey'd 

By  Moses  from  old  Pisgah's  sacred  height, 

When,  o'er  the  wilderness,  the  chosen  seed 

Rested  by  Jordan's  consecrated  stream  ! 

Oh,  sacred  gift !  —  by  blood  nor  rapine  bought, 

But  won  by  Faith,  upon  whose  peaceful  scroll, 

The  red  man  saw  —  instinct,  inscrutable  — 

The  destin'd  end  inscribed  of  all  his  race  ! 

And,  dogged,  yielding  to  the  high  decree, 

In  the  wide-changing  prospect  seemed  to  fade. 

Now  farther  would  I  ask,  thou  guardian  tree, 
How  look'd  our  sires,  when  hither  they  repaired, 
To  make  thy  trunk  the  sanctuary  safe 
Of  sacred  pledge  which  tyranny  would  wrest  1 
And,  when  thy  quick'ning  shoots  in  tendril  curls, 
Clos'd  with  paternal  care  around  the  trust, 
Did  not  each  glance  flash  in  the  bold  belief, 
That  freemen's  rights  are  safe  in  heart's  of  oak  7 
Such  glances  flashed  in  lightning  o'er  the  land 
When  Lexington  sent  forth  the  alarum  sound, 
Nor  ceased  until  the  last,  long  trumpet-peal 


THE    CHARTER     OAK.  27 

Died  'mong  the  hills,  which,  in  true  royalty, 
More  proudly  tower'd  when  all  around  was  free  ! 

Leave  we  the  past,  the  recent,  wond'rous  past, 
To  meditate  on  that  approaching  time, 
Which  broadly  now  its  shadows  casts  around, 
How  swells  the  heart  in  lofty  contemplation, 
When  its  high  musings  waft  the  raptured  mind, 
To  dwell  on  those  bright  days  of  promised  peace, 
Whose  foretaste  gives  such  philanthropic  joy. 
No  impious  work  man's  folly  now  uprears  ; 
But  elements  subservient  to  his  will, 
Here  yield  fraternal  and  expanded  arms  — 
Which,  through  its  circuit,  to  the  land's  far  end, 
Urged  by  the  subtle  fluid's  potent  power,  (*) 
Brings  brother  unto  brother,  long  estranged. 
And  there,  upon  old  ocean's  untracked  wild, 
The  lordly  palace  speeding  in  its  pride, 
Makes  brief  the  pathway  unto  shores  remote, 
By  happy  art  in  close  communion  brought, 
The  world,  ere  long,  a  fellowship  shall  own  — 
All  feuds  forgot  —  and  peace  forever  reign. 

Haply  when  still  the  vernal  air  shall  give 
It's  quiv'ring  mantle  to  thine  honour'd  trunk 


28  THE    CHARTER    OAK. 

Delighted  groups,  here  lingering,  may  tell 
How  gloriously  shone  forth  our  parent  isle, 
Since  in  her  clime  oppression  ceased  to  dwell. 
How  o'er  the  land,  "  from  Indus  to  the  pole," 
Her  arts  prevail,  her  language  swayful  speaks, 
Awhile  religion  —  from  her  altars  kindled  — 
Doth  from  a  thousand  sister  shrines  proclaim 
The  earth  subdued  in  brotherhood  of  bliss, 

Oh  for  a  prophet's  voice  again  to  urge 
Fall'n  man  unto  his  long  forgotten  way  ; 

Fain  would  I  heard  him  like  an  ocean  surge, 
No  more  amidst  a  wilderness  to  stray, 

To  seek,  and  aye  to  find,  a  bright,  a  heavenly  day. 

Blest  day  !  which  sought  what  joy  the  soul  doth  fill, 
In  vain  each  gloomy  terror  calls  to  yield  :  — 

No  demon  power  the  ecstacy  can  chill  — 

Can  from  the  contrite  wrest  their  heavenly  shield, 

When  breaks  thy  light  upon  the  well-fought  field. 

Great  God  !  to  thee  in  humbleness  we  bend, 

Our  march  is  onward,  prove  thou  still  our  guide  ; 
A  holy  interest  to  the  age  now  lend  — 


THE     CHARTER    OAK.  29 

For  see  in  grandeur  o'er  the  cowering  tide, 
The  ocean  steamer  moves  in  strength  and  conscious  pride. 

Of  her  we  sang  in  brief  prophetic  strain, 
And  mingled  glories  with  her  triumphs  van  ;          „ 

Again  the  muse  would  wake  the  bold  refrain  — 
'Tis  not  for  rhyme  such  lofty  themes  to  scan  — 

And  thus  her  daring  notes  she'd  pour  again. 

While  fresh  the  trace  the  wild  enthusiast  made  (2)  — 
At  least  so  deem'd  by  those  who  will  not  soar  ; 
Behold,  how  beauteous  comes  the  crowning  hour, 
Not  dimly  vision'd  in  his  recent  theme. 
Speeds  not  the  lordly  palace  in  its  pride  — 
Dawns  not  the  day  when  peace  shall  ever  reign  1 
Oh,  Poesy  !  no  longer  thou'rt  the  maid, 
Sporting  with  Naaids  in  their  murmuring  streams, 
Or  revelling  with  the  Dryads  in  the  glade  ; 
Far  less  we  find  thee  now  in  Paphian  bowers, 
But,  like  Minerva,  on  the  world  thou  break'st, 
Crested  in  pride  of  wisdom  and  of  art, 
And  marshalling  man  unto  that  conflict  bright, 
Where  mind  and  love  the  blissful  contest  hold. 
Vain  was  thy  art  e'en  when  of  ilium's  towers, 
3* 


30  THE     CHARTER     OAK. 

Of  Hector,  and  Achilles,  and  their  train, 
In  strains  sublime  the  bounded  minstrel  sung: 
Or  when  ./Eneas  sought  the  Latian  shore  : 
What  sang  they  but  of  black  revolting  deeds, 
AndJbllowing  still  but  in  a  wanton's  train  — 
For  Helen,  Dido  woke  the  glowing  song  — 
Else  to  Augustan  ear  gave  sickening  lay  — 
The  muse,  poor  pander,  and  the  muse  ashamed, 
Handmaid  in  art  to  cruelty  and  vice. 
No  Pegasus  can  now  the  bard  avail, 
Or  airy  rambling  on  Parnassus'  height : 
To  the  dark  Past  he  now  but  gives  a  look, 
Then  hastes  to  plume  him  in  the  glorious  train 
Borne  so  invisibly  throughout  the  world. 
Mysterious  power  !  what  marvel  fills  the  soul 
When  we  survey  the  varied,  wond'rous  ways 
On  which  thou  bear'st  incredulous  passive  man, 
To  the  bright  haven  of  his  promis'd  peace  ; 
Theme  inexhaustible,  yet  I,  presumptuous 
And  wayward  ever,  seek  to  weave  the  strain. 

Now  nears  the  time  when  England's  virgin  queen 
Jn  her  gay  court  shall  homage  smile  return 
Unto  the  flower  of  Europe's  gathered  pride  — 


THE     CHARTER     OAK.  31 

Perchance  the  last  of  all  such  pageants  vain, 

Whose  gewgaw  glitterings  shall  debase  the  race 

That  speak  the  swelling  language  of  the  free  — 

And  thine  that  language,  cherish'd  parent  isle, 

Ere  long  to  be  the  language  of  the  world. 

Yet,  lady,  favour'd,  happy  in  thy  crown, 

The  muse,  while  sternly  truth  doth  guide  her  flight, 

Would  fain  thy  laureat  prove,  and  dip  her  wing 

To  gild  thy  days  in  the  reflected  hues 

Of  a  whole  nation  happy  in  thy  smile. 

Brief  time,  the  tilt  and  tournament  were  there  — 

And  nodding  plumes  in  graceful  dalliance  wore, 

The  gallant  squire,  and  th'  high-bounding  steed, 

The  lance  well  pois'd,  lip  press'd,  and  flashing  eye, 

Proclaimed  the  cavalier  for  lady  love. 

While  the  poor  minstrel,  lowliest  in  the  train, 

Sang  of  bold  deeds  to  condescending  ears, 

His  muse  awak'd  to  worse  than  sensual  strains. 

And  now  are  gath'ring  round  thee,  mighty  queen  — 

Mighty  indeed,  for  love's  thy  base  of  power, 

The  beauty  and  the  bright  of  Christian  climes  ; 

The  chivalry  which  shall  thy  splendour  grace, 

Thrice  happy  queen,  — the  chivalry  of  mind. 

Hereditary  rank  still  holds  its  sway, 


32  THE     CHARTER     OAK. 

And  still  its  long  accustomed  station  fills, 
Unheeded  though  to  pass  the  gazing  crowd, 
If  mind  or  virtue  shine  not  on  its  crest. 
Not  mine,  fair  isle,  in  bold  excepting  tones 
To  speak  dispraising  thy  ancestral  pride, 
Yet  must  I  utter,  as  the  full  thought  urges, 
The  proud  belief,  that  rapid  hastes  the  time 
When  lineal  state  shall  quiet  yield  its  sway  — 
E'en  as  I've  marked,  in  twilight  glittering  West, 
A  lazy  cloud  —  its  sombre  body  deck'd 
With  a  bright  fringing  of  the  Iris  dyes, 
Dissolving  in  a  flood  of  chastened  light  — 
Then  every  star  sent  down  its  proper  light, 
And  chiefly  Dian,  mistress  of  the  throng. 
Prove  thou,  fair  queen,  the  Dian  of  the  world, 
Bright  in  thy  station  may'st  thou  constant  move, 
Thy  God  reflecting  with  a  ray  divine. 

To  the  Far  West  now  hies  the  impatient  muse  — 
With  lightning  speed,  ark  follows  upon  ark, 
As  though  the  world  were  disemboguing  there. 
Where  shall  we  rest,  or  where  pursue  the  theme  ? 
The  mind,  which  erst  on  fiction's  pinions  floated, 
There  revels  in  reality's  romance. 


THE     CHARTER    OAK.  33 

What  bounds  to  reach,  or  to  define  the  power 

Of  the  vast  change  few  rapid  years  have  marshall'd, 

Belongs  to  those,  who,  o'er  their  fellows  favoured, 

With  heaven-touch'd  eyes  the  glowing  future  scan.  — 

Immortal  Clinton  !  were  thy  grasping  mind 

Again  confined  to  frail  debasing  clay, 

How  would  it  leap  to  reach  that  consummation 

Which  in  brief  distance  on  its  gaze  would  break  — 

Though  vaguely  seen  by  all  the  world  around  — 

By  those  who  toil  but  in  lowly  labour, 

Or  those  who  stand  erect  in  artist  pride  : 

Little  they  deem  who  make  the  angle  sure, 

Or  those  who  elevate  the  humble  spade, 

What  glory  shall  accompany  the  train 

For  which  so  busily  they  smooth  the  path. 

Like  a  young  traveller  bounding  with  desire 

To  see  the  varied  beauties  of  the  world, 

Irresolute  where  first  his  steps  shall  wend, 

The  muse,  as  breaks  the  wonders  of  the  age, 

Though  in  their  dawn  —  so  circling  are  the  lures  — 

Scarce  knows  how  she  her  new-fledged  wing  shall  plume  ; 

Since,  high,  or  low,  far  round  or  far  beyond, 

All  things  that  greet  her  wrapt  ennobling  gaze, 

Invite  her  to  a  soul  careering  flight. 


34  THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

And  see  where  now  in  brightest  radiance  flashing1, 

Each  hill-top  cresting  and  each  valley  cheering, 

The  light  of  liberty  spreads  o'er  the  land  — 

Now  speeds  the  time  when  freemen  shall  be  free, 

When  the  unfettered  mind,  each  shackle  rending, 

Shall  make  the  present  to  the  smiling  future 

A  handmaid  prove ;  with  such  bright  jewels  decking, 

That  all  the  world  may  here  in  homage  throng  — 

For  to  the  Future  —  unto  it  alone, 

Must  boasting  man  look  for  his  present  pride  — 

But  that  o'ershadowed,  darkling  sinks  his  soul. 

My  country  !  and  in  this  discursive  strain, 

I  will  invoke  thee  in  thy  majesty, 

And  offer  up  the  soul  incited  prayer, 

That  thou,  with  rulers  worthy  of  thy  empire, 

May,  by  thy  great  unparalleled  example, 

Wake  in  the  emigrant  an  emulation 

To  nobly  win  a  station  midst  our  sons. 

Brief  time,  Heaven  smile,  this  strain  may  be  renewed, 

To  sing  the  praises  of  our  patriot  bands, 

Who,  scorning  all  political  device, 

Not  rulers,  but  co-labourers  shall  prove, 


THE     CHARTER    OAK.  35 

And  swell  the  sober  triumphs  of  that  land, 
Where  Eden's  garden  erst  its  fragrance  gave.  (3) 

No  hireling  words  have  ere  disgraced  the  bard, 
And  now  the  patriot  feeling  must  have  vent. 
Ere  long  the  chosen  of  this  favoured  land, 
Will  treat  of  themes  that  shall  each  bosom  swell : 
Leaving  all  selfish,  low,  intriguing  schemes, 
How  will  they  joy  to  trumpet  our  high  destiny  — 
Point  to  the  Rocky  Mountains'  natural  gorge, 
And  trace  the  rail-road  to  its  farthest  bound  ; 
Thence,  with  a  Colden's,  Fulton,  piercing  sight, 
The  steamers  see  stud  the  Pacific  wave  — 
No  idle  dream  —  nor  even  idle  that, 
Which  views  New-England's  ever  hardy  sons, 
Make  nought  of  China's  famous  Tartar  wall : 
There  shall  our  language  urge  a  healthful  sway, 
While  now,  its  blessed  and  enlightening  influence, 
Through  Birmah,  Hindostan,  and  Polynesia, 
Doth  waken  man  unto  his  better  attributes, 
Yielding  a  rich  reward  to  Christian  toil. 


B  THE    CHARTER     OAK. 

Could  I  but  utter  in  a  high-wrought  song, 
The  feelings  o'er  my  bursting  soul  that  steal, 

How  rapt  would  I  the  lofty  strain  prolong, 
Bringing  vain  man  his  humbleness  to  feel, 

As  each  low  thought  I'd  nakedly  reveal. 

Lowly  I'd  bring  him,  to  exalt  him  higher, 

No  more  —  conventional  —  should  he  depend  ; 

But,  breaking  from  his  thraldom,  catch  the  fire 
Which  still  upon  his  lip  will  e'er  descend, 

When  he  hath  sought  his  true  —  his  only  friend. 

His  God  !  —  start !  and  ye  may,  ye  selfish,  sneering  crew, 
If  chance  you  flaunt  upon  the  imbecile  verse, 

Oh  may  the  Almighty  to  your  contrite  view, 
Those  blessings  bring  you  now  would  make  a  curse, 

Then  the  pain'd  muse  no  more  your  misdeeds  might  re 
hearse. 

But  from  the  rhyme  —  concluding  —  let  me  turn, 

Its  fetters  suit  not  an  outpouring  soul ; 
O'er  man's  high  destiny  each  thought  doth  burn, 

The  muse,  impatient  of  the  weak  control, 
All  art-sought  measure  would,  though  feebly,  spurn* 


THE     CHARTER    OAK. 

But,  stay  the  tear  for  still  degenerate  mail  — 
Neglectful  of  his  high  ascending  powers, 
And  of  his  ministry  in  God's  high  providence  — 
Bowing  to  Cain-like  and  degenerate  art. 
How  may  we  judge  the  value  of  his  toil  — 
How7,  nature's  triumph  by  that  toil  achieved  — - 
For  still  mysterious  are  all  her  ways  — 
May  give  a  guerdon,  where  we  see  a  curse  1 
Though  Art  and  Nature  ne'er  run  parallel  — 
Art's  great  perfection  lies  in  her  concealment, 
While  Nature  stands  revealed  to  all  the  world  ; 
And  where  her  beauties  most  she  doth  disclose, 
Her  worshippers,  with  reverence,  most  admire. 

Had  Homer  or  Euripides  ne'er  wrote, 
Who  at  this  day  the  Stagyrite  would  know  1 
Vain  art  —  poor  critic  art,  that  genius  binds  — 
Compelling  to  the  slave's  oft  trodden  road, 
When  Nature,  through  her  glorious  expanse, 
Invites  to  stray,  and  o'er  her  boundless  realm 
Such  beauty  sheds  the  glowing  heart  to  win. 
Did  Shakspeare,  Byron,  deal  in  classic  lore  ? 
Pause  on  the  page,  and  be  the  question  ask'd. 
Archimedes  his  lever  well. might  boast ; 
That  lever,  was  the  lever  of  the  mind. 


37 


38  THE     CHARTER     OAK. 

P 

Discursive  still  to  Texas,  now  we'll  roam ; 
And  oh  what  thoughts  the  miracle  awakens, 
As  the  Alamo's  bloody  field  ariseth, 
And  San  Jacinto's  wonders  are  displayed. 
A  miracle  —  a  heaven- wrought  miracle  — 
A  hastening  of  that  bright,  that  blessed  day, 
When  all  the  world  in  brotherhood  shall  bow. 

Pause  — heedful  pause,  and  be  the  question  put  — 
What  but  Almighty  power,  and  for  great  ende, 
Could  give  such  triumph  to  that  little  band, 
Opposed  by  those  —  and  on  their  border  soil  —    , 
Who  dared  defy  the  universe  in  arms  1 

From  them  the  smile  of  heaven  is  aye  withdrawn, 
And  scarce  a  century  shall  rapid  flee, 
When  not  a  vestige  of  the  sensual  crew 
Who  sparsely  spread  that  wide  and  rich  domain, 
Shall  live  to  weep  o'er  degradation  past. 

What  though  the  reckless  and  the  wild  did  press, 
To  make  the  invited  footing  on  that  soil  — 
Do  not  their  records  tell  of  glowing  hearts  — 
Do  not  their  acts  speak  of  great  minds  reclaim'd  T 


THECHARTEROAK.  39 

If  Cortes  swept  the  land  in  her  best  days, 

Urged  on  by  bigotry  and  lust  of  gold  — 

When  Montezuma  swayed  in  eastern  pride  — 

Say,  what  shall  stay  the  onward  course  of  these 

When  heaven  doth  smile,  and  righteous  vengeance  leads  ? 

Shades  of  our  ancestors  !  —  inspired  band  ! 
Who  gave  th'  impetus  to  that  deep  felt  power, 
Which  may  not  rest  till  all  the  world  is  spanned,  — 
Come,  kindly  hover,  and  my  soul  renew  ; 
The  gift  impart  to  speak  in  fitting  strain, 
Of  the  bless'd  days  which  to  my  vision  come. 
And  chiefly,  Franklin  !  thou  wouldst  i  invoke, 
Who  with  thy  bright  and  penetrating  ken, 
Didst  languish  for  a  length  of  earthly  days, 
The  unfolding  wonders  of  our  land  to  view. 

Onward,  still  onward  moves  the  hardy  race  — 
The  Anglo-Saxon  spirit  still  is  there  ! 
A  heaven-sent  talisman  by  them  is  borne. 
It  waves  —  the  desert  blossoms  as  the  rose  — 
It  touches,  and  the  mountain  lowly  sinks, 
While  rise  the  valleys  to  a  bliss-fraught  light. 
Enervate  superstition's  fear-brought  train 


40  THE     CHARTER     OAK. 

Shrinks  at  the  sight  and  howls  a  last  farewell ; 

Again  Tolteca's  waste  in  smiles  is  drest, 

Her  lofty  pyramids  and  silent  cities 

Now  find  their  solitude  forever  broken  ; 

And  could  they  speak,  in  trumpet  voice  they'd  tell 

Their  joy  to  stand  as  monuments  reclaimed, 

Amidst  a  race  who  worship  with  free  hearts. 

Still  onward  where  Carribea's  beauteous  sea 

Doth  pile  her  waves  to  feed  the  ocean  stream, 

The  spirit  comes  —  her  touch  divides  the  land, 

And  Atalanta,  like  a  wayward  girl, 

Bounds  forth  to  hide  her  on  her  father's  breast. 

In  her  repose,  the  hurricane  dismayed, 
Sinks  back  —  no  more  those  beauteous  isles  to  waste  ; 
While  on  the  borders  of  the  pilgrim  soil 
New  lands  uprise  their  treasures  to  display.  (4) 
Onward,  —  still  onward, — shall  this  tal'sman  speed, 
Till  all  the  range,  to  Patagonia's  bound, 
With  blessed  influence  in  joy  shall  bend : 
Diverging  thence,  upon  a  tranquil  sea, 
How  speedily  to  China  is  it  borne  ! 
And  the  Celestial  Empire, —falsely  named, — 
Like  to  our  Aborigines,  shall  fade, 
Or  own  and  bless  a  GOD  before  unknown. 


THE     CHARTER     OAK.  41 

As  rapid  as  the  railroad's  car  doth  move, 
Intelligence  is  speeding  through  the  world, 
And  not  far  distant  is  that  hallowed  time 
When  from  thy  seven-hill'd  city,  Constantine, 
The  muezzin  sound, — the  Christian,  muezzin  sound, 
Shall  be  the  signal  to  a  grateful  world  — 
E'en  as  the  cannon  hence  to  Erie's  shore, 
In  one  reverberation,  proudly  told. 
The  mighty  triumphs  of  a  Clinton's  mind, 
When  the  great  lakes  paid  tribute  to  the  sea. 

Farewell  the  theme: — but  to  thee  must  I  turn, 
Thou  monarch  tree  !  —  the  muse  that  didst  awake,  — 
Tell  of  thy  age  —  of  all  the  varied  views 
Thy  time,  with  revolution  fraught,  hast  known. 
Say  why  the  Indian  gazed  on  thee  in  wonder,— 
A  sacred  planting  by  Manitou's  hand,  — 
To  stand  unscathed  till  time  hath  reached  her  doom  1 
Whence  came  the  legend  1 — say  where  is  the  link  1  — 
Let  it  be  seized,  and  thus  connect  the  chain, 
A  chain  of  bliss  which  all  the  world  shall  bind. 


4* 


THE     CHARTER     OAK 


NOTES. 


"  Urged  by  the  subtle  fluid's  potent  power." 

(1)  The  author  when  he  indited  this  line  had  strict  reference  to  the  pro 
gress  and  perfection  of  the  Electro-Magnetic  power  for  practical  purposes. 
In   anything  connected  with   science  and  the  arts,  short  of  perpetual  mo 
tion,  very  few  reflecting  and  observing  men  can  at  the  present  day  be  skepti 
cal.     It  is  but  a  light  hazard  to  predict  that  the  company  which  is,  and  has 
been,  so  earnestly.engaged  in  developing  this  splendid  principle  of  action, 
will  ere  long  meet  with  a  reward  commensurate  to  their  devoted  zeal  and 
untiring  perseverance. 

"  While  fresh  the  trace  the  wild  enthusiast  made." 

(2)  This  part  of  the  poem  was  written  immediately  after  the  arrival  of  the 
"  Great  Western,"  and  anterior  to  the  coronation  of  Queen  Victoria.    It  will 
be  seen  by  the  reader  that  in  the  portion  of  the  work  written,  as  indicated,  at 
sea,  the  success  of  ocean  steam  navigation  is  adverted  to  with  the  most  per 
fect  confidence. 

"  Where  Eden's  garden  erst  its  fragrance  gave." 

(3)  This  line  was  suggested  by  some  ideas  contained  in  a  letter  which  was 
addressed  to  the  late  celebrated  Dr.  Mitchell.    The  writer  was  a  resident 
of  Ohio,   and   by  a   series  of  very   ingeniously  wroug-ht   arguments,  with 
sustaining  facts  from    Scripture,  he  attempted  to  show  that   the  garden  of 
Eden  was  located  in  Ohio,  and  that  Noah  was  a  resident  of  that  region  ; 
whence  he  wended  eastward,  to  rest  on  Arrarat ;  hence  another  line  com 
mencing  the  blank  verse  of  this  book 

"  Back  to  those  days  when  eastward  went  the  ark." 

"  New  lands  uprise  their  treasures  to  display" 

(4)  This  passage  relates  to  the  results  which  would  follow  a  diversion  of 
the  waters  of  the  Carribean  into  the  Pacific.    The  idea  may  be  ridiculous  ; 
the  event  may  seem  an  impossibility  —  but  it  is   worthy  of  consideration. 
Should  that  immense  body  of  water  which  constitutes  the  Gulf  Stream  find 
an  outlet  in  the  broad  Pacific,  the  effect  upon  our  portion  of  the  continent 
would  needs  be  astonishing.     The  author  indulged  in  this,  as  he  presumes  it 
will  be  called,  rhodomante,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  elicit  something  from 
those  who  are  scientifically  qualified  to  treat  the  subject  with  the  intelli 
gence  it  deserves. 

The  tree  alluded  to  in  the  poem,  and  which  gives  the  title  to  the  entire 
production,  still  flourishes  on  Willis  hill,  now  forming  the  estate  of  Stephen 
Bulkley,  Esq.  in  Hartford,  Connecticut.  It  is  distinguished  as  being  the  de 
pository  selected  by  the  spirited  colonists,  when  Sir  Edmond  Andros,  in  1638, 
attempted  to  deprive  them  of  their  charter.  The  instrument  remained  con 
cealed  in  a  hollow  of  the  tree  until  the  era  of  the  revolution  and  was  ef 
fectually  guarded  from  sinister  or  impertinent  curiosity  by  the  branches  and 
shoots,  which  rapidly  grew  round  the  cavity.  The  tree  has  been  carefully 
enclosed  by  a  paling,  and  is  pointed  to  with  most  justifiable  pride  by  our 
Hartford  brethren. 


AND    OTHER    FOEMS.  43 


THE    CEIILD'S  GRATITUDE. 

The  following  lines,  written  impromptu,  were  suggested  by  a  truly  affect 
ing  scene  which  is  imperfectly  described  in  the  poem.  The  letter  alluded  to 
came  at  a  moment  of  great  pecuniary  distress,  and  the  tears  of  joy  which  its 
contents  called  forth,  awakened  the"  apprehensions  of  the  recipient's  child,  a 
charming  little  girl,  only  3  years  of  age.  On  being  told  that  the  letter  brought 
comfort,  and  that  she  should  now  have  plenty  of  food  and  clothes,  she  ex 
claimed  :  "  What,  mother  !"  and  her  beautiful  blua  eyes  lighted  up  with  a 
heavenly  expression — "  shall  I  have  plenty  of  victuals  and  clothes?  Oh, 
mother!  shall  I  thank  God?"  and  immediately  throwing  herself  into  an  at 
titude  of  prayer,  her  little  soul  seemed  to  exhale  in  childish  expressions  of 
gratitude.  Tears  fell  from  me  such  as  £  never  before  shed,  and  all  my  phi 
losophy  vanished.  I  sighed  to  be  rich. 

WITH  trembling  hands  the  seal  was  broke, 

And,  lo  !  a  treasure  it  disclosed  — 
The  mother's  joy  no  language  spoke, 

For  feeling's  fountain  then  unclosed. 


No  words  her  joy  could  utterance  give, 
So  fast  the  heart- warm  tears  did  flow ; 

In  comfort  she  again  may  live  — 
But  see,  that  cherub's  look  of  wo  ! 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  afflicts  you  so  ? 

Nay,  nay,  dear  mother,  do  not  cry  !" 
"  My  child,  from  joy  my  tears  do  flow, 

Come,  let  me  kiss  that  dew-gemm'd  eye. 


44  THE     CHARTER     OAK, 

"  The  treasure  which  I  here  do  find 

Will  bring  thee  food,  and  raiment  warm  ; 

And  midst  this  winter's  piercing  wind, 
The  cheering  pile  our  hearth  to  charm. 

"  Kiss  me,  my  child,  —  another  kiss  ! 

The  path  of  gloom  which  long  I've  trod, 
JBy  friendship's  ray  now  glows  with  bliss  !" 

"Oh,  mother  !  shall  I  thank  my  God  1" 

Then  on  her  knees,  that  cherub  child, 
Her  little  hands  did  thankful  raise : 

It  seemed  as  if  a  seraph  smiled, 

When  broke  those  simple  notes  of  praise. 

Could  grasping  Avarice  behold 

A  scene  like  that  I  witnessed  there, 

No  longer  he'd  the  boon  withhold, 
But  fly  to  win  the  cherub's  prayer. 


AND     OTHER     POEMS. 


45 


THE  author  having  occasion  to  execute  a  piece  of  writing,  and  being  very 
much  depressed  in  mind,  withdrew  from  office  interruption  to  a  private  room 
which  commanded  an  elevated  and  extensive  view  of  one  of  the  most  busy 
thoroughfares  of  our  busy  metropolis,  where  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in 
the  following  strain.  To  understand  it  fully,  it  is  requisite  the  reader  should 
be  apprized  that  from  his  lofty  window  he  observed  within  a  few  minutes 
of  time,  a  number  of  objects  whom  sympathy  or  charity  might  solace,  but 
could  not  relieve.  Reverting  to  his  own  feelings  while  in  the  enjoyment 
of  good  health,  and  with  power  to  command  every  needful  luxury  of  life, 
his  spirit  reproved  him. 


MY  God  !  my  God  !  how  shall  I  speak 
The  transports  of  a  bursting  heart  1 

Not  words  —  oh  no  —  they  are  too  weak  — 
My  anguished  joy  they  can't  impart. 

Feelings  which  clog  the  tongue  are  mine, 
Should  speech  essay  —  the  utterance  vain  • 

For  holy  awe  and  love  divine, 
Each  riven  faculty  enchain. 

Great  God  !  how  boundless  is  thy  love  — 

My  soul  in  aspirations  weak, 
Would  every  earth-born  thought  reprove, 

And  thus  in  heart-warm  accents  speak. 


46 


THE     CHARTER     OAK, 

Give  me,  oh  Lord  !  the  spirit  of  prayer, 
Thy  grace,  thy  mercy  to  implore  ; 

Let  not  my  wilful  spirit  dare, 

To  count  secure  her  present  store. 

The  richer  falls  thy  dew  of  grace, 
The  humbler  let  my  head  descend, 

Till  mercy's  sun,  in  boundless  space, 
Shall  shed  its  bliss  —  time  without  end. 


SOMK  years  ago  the  author  was  voyaging  from  South  America,  via.  Cuba. 
One  morning  the  cry  was  heard,  land  ho!  The  captain  and  ourself  knew 
not  what  to  make  of  it.  There  was  the  land  —  but  what  land  ?  Our  reck 
oning  placed  us  at  least  fifty  miles  distant  from  any.  We  were  running  nine 
knots  through  the  water,  and  still  the  land  presented  the  same  unvaried  ap 
pearance —  no  alteration  whatever  being  apparent  in  distance  or  bearing. 
It  seemed  magical,  and  superstitious  fear  possessed  several  of  the  crew. 
Some  hours  elapsed,  and  still  was  each  eye  bent  on  this  phenomenon ;  when 
from  aloft  the  first  officer  hallooed,  the  "  smoky  devil."  It  proved  to  be  the 
steamer  Robert  Fulton,  and  the  magical  land  which  had  surprised  and 
alarmed  us,  was  the  smoke  from  her  chimney. 


WHAT  headland  is  that  on  the  ocean's  wide  waste, 
Which  looms  to  confound  the  poor  mariner's  gaze  1 

Land  ho  !  is  the  cry  —  the  captain  call  —  haste  — 
He  springs  to  the  deck  and  he  looks  in  amaze. 


AND     OTHER    FOE  MS.  47 

Land  ho  !  can  it  be  ?  Is  dame  nature  in  play  1 

See  the  waves,  round  our  prow  how  delighted  they  roll, 

While  each  lip  and  each  feature  in  blighted  array, 

Would  speak  the  dread  earthquake's  heart-crushing  con 
trol. 

Cheer  ye  msn,  cheer  ye  men,  the  bold  captain  then  said  — 
An  earthquake  alone  could  give  birth  to  yon  land ; 

But  though  the  dark  omen  weave  fears  dreaded  braid, 
Still  we  live  in  the  hollow  of  heaven's  right  hand. 

Onward,  onward,  still  onward,  the  fleet  bark  did  rush, 
And  still  loomed  the  land  in  unvaried  display ; 

What  feelings  did  then  o'er  the  mariner  gush, 
As  of  fate  he  beheld  the  much  dreaded  array. 

While  freshened  the  breeze,  and  more  swift  flew  the  bark, 
That  land  still  was  seen  in  its  dim,  misty  glow ; 

When  loud,  from  the  topmast,  was  heard  the  shrill  — hark  ! 
Of  the  lookout,  to  those  who  were  pacing  below. 

Huzza  boys,  huzza  !  'tis  not  land  you  descry, 

But  the  smoke  of  a  ship  spurning  current  and  air  ! 

As  near'd  the  bold  steamer,  with  pleasure  beats  high 
Each  mariner's  heart  that  had  throbbed  in  despair. 


48  THE     CHARTER    OAK, 


BYRON. 

HARK  !  'tis  the  war-cry  on  the  gale  — 

Awake  !  my  soul  awake  — 
Grecia !  thy  spirit  I'll  inhale, 

While  ruthless  tyrants  quake. 

The  Moslem  hand  is  rushing  on, 
Awake  !  my  soul's  full  strung  — 

They  paused  not  when  at  Marathon, 
The  Persian  dirge  was  sung. 

Hark  to  the  sound  !  my  heart's  in  arms, 
I'll  think  of  Salamis  ; 

And  revel  in  the  rude  alarms, 

And  seek  in  war  for  bliss. 

* 

Not  where  Bozzarris  cheered  his  band, 

That  noble  spirit  fled ; 
Nor  in  the  field,  with  blood-stained  brand. 

He  mingled  with  the  dead. 
But,  where  he  yielded  up  his  breath, 

The  pilgrim's  shrine  is  found  ; 
And  by  the  never  dying  wreath, 

Is  mighty  genius  crown'd. 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 

BATTERY    SERENADE. 

OH  gently  o'er  the  tranquil  wave, 

The  sportive  zephyr  glides ; 
And  in  the  glittering  vast  concave, 

The  moon  sublimely  rides  : 
And  from  yon  fairy  castle's  height, 

Soft  music  greets  mine  ear ; 
But  lost  to  me  is  their  delight  — 

Amelia  is  not  here. 

I  gaze  upon  the  tranquil  wave, 

And  feel  the  zephyr's  play  ; 
And  mark  amid  the  gemm'd  concave, 

The  moon's  sublimer  ray  : 
And  from  yon  fairy  castle's  height, 

List  to  the  strains  so  clear ; 
But  lost  to  me  is  all  delight  — 

Amelia  is  not  here. 

Perchance  upon  yon  orb  her  look 

In  rapture  may  be  cast ; 
While  musing  by  some  babbling  brook, 

That  tells  her  of  the  past : 
5 


50  THE     CHARTER     OAK, 

The  past  which,  in  an  hour  like  this, 
To  me  so  painful  proves,  — 

Another  now  may  share  her  bliss, 
And  rend  the  heart  that  loves. 


LINES, 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  ALBUM  OF  A  YOUNG  MOTHER. 

BEHOLD  the  little  prattler  at  thy  knee, 
Each  look  returning  with  a  cherub's  smile  ; 
Now,  as  she  bounds  and  sports  in  childish  glee, 
Her  bosom  free  from  sin,  from  taint,  or  guile  — 
Say  —  does  it  not  each  anxious  care  beguile  ? 

And  cares  there  are,  that  rudely  still  will  rush, 
When  friends,  when  fortune,  all  unite  to  bless  ; 
In  festal  hall — by  the  lone  fountain's  gush, 
They  come,  each  buoyant  feeling  to  repress, 
The  fond  heart  searing  in  their  dread  caress. 


ANDOTHERPOEMS.  51 

Oft  may  we  mark  some  lowering  envious  cloud, 
Threat'ning  the  storm,  in  gathering  gloom  arise, 
Careering  darkly,  night's  bright  Queen  to  shroud  — 
Then,  shrinking,  as  abashed  at  the  emprise, 
In  blushes  add  new  lustre  to  the  skies. 

So  prove  the  cares  that  may  thy  breast  invade, 

Like  rain-drops  from  the  spring-cloud,  smiling  come 

Perennial  joys  be  thine — no  blighting  shade 
Awake  regret  —  or  cause  a  thought  to  roam  : 
All  bliss  be  centred  in  thy  home  —  sweet  home  ! 


SONG  OF  THE  BASHFUL  LOVER. 

DEAR  maiden  as  fondly  I've  gazed  on  thy  charms, 
How  has  fluttered  my  heart  in  love's  soft  alarms  ; 
And  oh,  as  I  gazed,  how  I've  secretly  sighed, 
To  ask  the  dear  treasure,  to  claim  thee  my  bride. 

How  oft  have  I  thought  as  I  dwelt  on  thy  smile, 

That  your  dearly  lov'd  presence  each  care  could  beguile, 


:  THE     CHARTER     OAK, 

Which  rudely  assails  as  on  life's  stream  we  glide, 
And  with  rapture  I've  burned  to  claim  thee  my  bride. 

Oft  in  transport  I've  thought  that  thy  bosom  did  glow 
With  feelings  responsive,  I've  languish'd  to  know  ; 
Oh  speak  then,  dear  maiden,  oh  deign  to  confide, 
That  word  is  ecstatic  which  makes  thee  my  bride. 

But  shouldst  thou  deceive  me — the  thought  is  despair,  — 
It  turns  to  a  desert  the  Eden  so  fair  ; 
Where  in  fancy,  I've  roam'd,  with  such  joy  thrilling  pride, 
Oh  rend  not  this  bosom  —  say  thou'lt  be  my  bride. 


LINES. 


Too  much  of  a  misanthropic  spirit  maybe  accorded  to  this  little  effusion. 
In  complying  with  an  urgent  request  for  its  insertion  here,  the  writer  would 
simply  express  his  (ears  that  it  may  be  found  too  true  to  be  poetical. 


THOUGH  I  live  for  the  world,  I  despise  it, 
Its  light  is  the  meteor's  glare  ; 

And  wo  to  the  wretch  who  shall  prize  it  — 
His  portion  is  nought  but  despair. 


AND     OTHER    POEMS.  53 

Of  friendship,  of  wealth,  and  of  power, 

Enjoyment  I've  had,  to  my  cost ; 
For  still,  in  each  fast  fleeting  hour, 

Th'  fruition  hath  ever  been  lost. 

What  day  dreams  of  pleasure  still  hovered — 
Round  my  couch  what  bright  fantasies  shone  ; 

And  Hope,  each  defect  as  she  covered, 
Displayed  Cyrethea's  bright  zone. 

Oh  how  fondly,  how  madly,  I  lov'd  it  — 

This  world  in  its  treacherous  smile  ; 
How  hollow,  how  heartless,  I've  prov'd  it 

Heaven  shield  me  from  wrath  and  from  guile  ! 

I  rail  —  not  that  fortune  has  left  me, 

Her  embraces  Bg^have  compell'd  ; 
I  rail,  not  at  aught  that's  bereft  me, 

I  rail  —  the  illusion's  dispell'd. 

On  my  brow  still  contentment  sits  smiling, 

Still  my  accents  are  bland  and  serene  : 
As  a  flower  in  its  beauty  beguiling, 

The  thorns,  which  it  bears,  all  unseen. 
5* 


54  THE     CHARTER    OAK, 

Farewell !  Oh  farewell,  each  gay  vision  — 
In  vain  spread  ye  now  the  lov'd  lure  ; 

Your  incitements  I  view  with  derision, 
Such  mocking  no  more  I'll  endure. 

But  yet  there  is  rest  for  the  weary, 

Hope  still  broods  o'er  the  verge  of  despair  ; 

But  —  turn  from  this  false  world  —  so  dreary  — 
Look  to  Heaven !  —  'tis  there  —  only  there ! 


ODE. 

The  following  Ode,  written  on  an  occasion  of  the  celebration  of  Washing- 
ton's  Birth  Day,  was  sung  by  Mr.  Richings  at  the  Park  Theatre.  It  will  ap 
pear  necessary  to  state,  that  at  the  time  of  its  production,  the  South  American 
Continent  had  just  fully  emerged  from  the  thraldom  of  Spain,  with  not  a 
prospect  of  the  dissensions  and  divisions  which  have  since  so  seriously  af 
fected  its  prosperity. 

Now  hushed  is  the  clarion,  and  pseans  of  joy 

Proclaim  that  a  world  wakes  to  freedom  and  glory  : 
No  more  stalks  the  despot  its  peace  to  destroy, 

Or  sully  the  page  which  spreads  bright  with  its  story. 
Then  wake  the  heart's  strain, 
And  let  echo  again 


AND    OTHER    POEMS.  55 

In  rapture  repeat  it,  from  shore  and  from  main  — 
It  is  liberty's  anthem !  oh  swell  the  glad  sound  ; 
Let  the  chorus  sublimely  reach  earth's  utmost  bound. 

First  o'er  this  blest  land  the  oppressor  dismay'd, 

Heard  our  sires  loud  war  cry,  to  the  battle  field  rushing  ; 
Beheld  their  brave  legions  undaunted  array'd, 

And  shouting  for  freedom  while  life's  blood  was  gushing. 
Their  memory  is  dear, 
And  with  homage  sincere, 
Their  valor  and  virtues  we  e'er  will  revere  : 
Unto  them  shall  our  hymns  of  warm  gratitude  rise, 

While  pleased,  each  bless'd  spirit  looks  down  from  the 
skies. 

And  to  Him,  still  transcendent  in  peace  and  in  war, 

Our  heart's  adoration  is  gratefully  flowing  ; 
He  rose  on  the  world  Freedom's  great  polar  star, 
Its  lustre  with  age  e'en  more  brilliantly  glowing. 
Under  tyranny's  sway 
As  they  languishing  lay, 

Our  brethren  afar  caught  its  bright  beaming  ray ; 
Then  o'er  the  wide  main  to  each  dark  heaving  sea, 
To  arms  they  sprang  fiercely,  and  swore  to  be  free. 


56  THE     CHARTER    OAK, 

Oh  !  may  his  great  p  ecepts  our  hearts  still  inspire, 

His  example  awaken  the  world's  emulation, 
Till  throughout  the  wide  earth  man  shall  nobly  aspire 
To  the  blessings  which  flow  round  our  well-belov'd  nation. 
Let  all  base  thoughts  retire, 
And  Liberty's  fire 

Glow  bright  in  the  breast  of  each  son  and  each  sire  — 
May  we  stand  a  bright  beacon  a  world  still  to  save, 
And  Freedom  rise,  smiling,  from  Tyranny's  grave. 


TO  A   COQUETTE. 

WRITTEN   ON   A   BRIGHT   WINTER    NIGHT. 

FAREWELL  !  forever  fare  thee  well ! 

Without  one  sigh  I  part ; 
And  not  one  treacherous  tear  shall  tell 

The  anguish  of  my  heart. 
Farewell !  and  oh,  a  long  farewell, 

For  thou  canst  ne'er  be  mine ; 
Now  broken  is  the  syren  spell, 

Which  bound  each  thought  to  thine. 


ANDOTHERPOEMS.  57 

Bright  in  her  azure  star-gemm'd  field, 

Yon  orb  in  beauty  rolls ; 
Yet  scarce  a  joy  the  scene  doth  yield, 

Stern  winter's  blast  controls. 
E'en  so  the  smiles  which  deck  my  brow, 

And  pride  will  call  them  there, 
Fall  on  a  heart  whose  once  warm  glow, 

Is  chilled  by  cold  despair. 

Yet  zephyr  will  resume  her  reign 

When  thus  the  scene  glows  bright ; 
And  I  perchance  may  once  again 

Return  to  lost  delight. 
Then  fare  thee  well  —  I'll  not  upbraid  — 

Or  chide  the  cruel  art, 
Which,  too  successfully,  betray'd 

An  unsuspecting  heart. 

Farewell !  and  oh,  a  long  farewell, 

For  thou  canst  ne'er  be  mine  ; 
Now  broken  is  the  syren  spell, 

Which  bound  each  thought  to  thine. 


58 


THE     CHARTER     OAK, 


THE  circumstances  under  which  the  following  verses  were  written,  nnd  the 
probable  effect  they  produced,  constitute  the  inducement  for  their  insertion 
here.  The  author  had  the  pleasure,  when  in  Liverpool,  some  years  ago,  of 
attending  a  lecture  of  James  Sheridan  Knowles,  the  celebrated  author  of 
Wm.  Tell,  Virginius,  &c.  His  subject  was  the  Greek  drama,  which  he  treat 
ed  most  happily,  concluding  by  some  readings  and  recitations  from  Camp 
bell's  Gertrude  of  Wyoming,  — Lord  Ullin's  daughter,  &c.,  that  were  given 
with  great  force,  feeling,  and  pathos.  The  impression  made  upon  the  writer 
he  endeavoured  to  convey  in  the  following  lines,  which  were  indited  imme 
diately  after  the  lecture.  A  copy  of  them  which  he  sent  to  Mr.  Knowles,  he 
has  good  reason  to  believe  had  a  material  influence  in  urging  the  gifted  au 
thor  to  the  completion  of  that  admirable  play,  the  Hunchback. 


THE  Atlantic  billow  in  its  ceaseless  swell, 

Rolls  wide  between  me  and  my  cherish'd  home, 

Whence  oft  as  beckon'd  by  some  mystic  spell, 

Would  hither  my  young  thoughts  enraptur'd  roam. 

For  still  my  rushing  blood  hath  felt  the  power, 
Which  o'er  the  soul  the  mounting  muse  did  fling, 

When  wandering  Avon's  consecrated  bower, 
She  caught  the  strain  no  other  bard  may  sing. 

How  shall  I  speak  my  bosom's  mantling  glow, 
When  patriot  Tell  in  triumph  shone  the  man, 

Or  pale  Virginius  from  his  manly  wo, 

Stood  maddened  forth  in  desperation's  van  ! 


AND     OTHER     POEMS.  59 

And  I  have  heard  who  from  the  historic  page, 
CalPd  each  to  life  in  bold,  inspiring  lay  — 

Rob'd  in  new  charms,  the  worshipp'd  of  the  age, 
Aye,  bright  to  shine  on  their  imperial  way. 

And  all  my  childhood  and  my  youth  had  felt, 
Came  rushing  on  me  in  impetuous  tide  — 

The  shrine  at  which  in  fervour  oft  I've  knelt, 
Fresh  incense  scatter'd  as  I  bowed  beside. 

The  voice  of  him  whose  muse  awoke  my  soul, 
Broke  on  my  ear  as  music  of  the  spheres 

Lone  Gertrude's  sorrows  urg'd  their  sad  control 

For  Ullin's  maid  fast  flow'd  the  heart  wrung  tears. 

Away  !  away !  the  laurel  wreath  is  thine  — 

Call  to  new  echo  thy  neglected  song : 
Thy  spirit  pour  on  the  impassioned  line  — 

Renew  the  strains  which  shall  thy  envied  fame  prolong. 


POEMS. 

ON   THE    DEATH    OF    «L.  E.  L." 

THOU  art  blest !  —  thou  art  blest  — 

Ere  came  the  blight ; 
The  ills  which  life  molest, 

Thou'st  ta'en  thy  flight 

Fame's  meteor  joys  were  thine  — 

An  era  came ; 
What  bliss  did  then  entwine, 

As  burst  love's  flame. 

No  more  can  glow  that  flame, 

Aye  hushed  thy  song: 
But  thou  has  left  a  name 

To  be  remembered  long. 

Farewell  —  oh  fare  thee  well— 

One  who  knew  thee  not, 
In  simple  strain  would  say 

Thou'lt  not  be  forgot. 

Long  days  to  come  the  virtuoso  spell, 
Will  strongest  prove  when  riseth  L.  E.  L. 


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